


I've Got Demon Eyes

by InterstellarVagabond



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drunk flirting, Fluff, M/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:55:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarVagabond/pseuds/InterstellarVagabond
Summary: “Angel?” he asked with a soft chuckle, as Aziraphale leaned in close to his face. Crowley remained still as Aziraphale removed his sunglasses, and then placed a warm hand on his cheek. One restless thumb stroked across the prominent edge of Crowley’s cheekbone, and Crowley shivered at the feather-light touch.“There now,” Aziraphale said softly, gazing at Crowley’s eyes. “That’s better.”





	I've Got Demon Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> We now have a Russian translation provided by EastWind96! https://ficbook.net/readfic/8369714

It was an evening like any other, which is to say one involving the warm interior of Aziraphale’s bookshop and a great deal of wine. The angel and demon pair had found that their current standings with the forces of heaven and hell following their failed executions had allowed them a great deal of freedom in how they spent their time, and more importantly who they spent their time with. No longer afraid of being caught fraternizing with the enemy, they had begun to spend a great deal of time in each other’s company enjoying the all too human pleasures their immortal fellows could never seem to appreciate. 

Human pleasures were, in fact, the subject of discussion at the moment. 

“Oh, listen,” Crowley said, gesturing for Aziraphale to pass the bottle back to him. Once he had secured the wine he leaned back on the couch, returning to the lazy sprawl that allowed his thin frame to somehow dominate most of the couch. “That one’s on me, I’m sorry, really.”

“No!” Aziraphale gasped. 

“I mean, not all uh… adaptions,” Crowley said. “Just the very unsatisfying ones. Not… not the good ones like uh… the one with the dragons but, the one with the Greek stuff-”

“You’re awful,” Aziraphale said, though his outrage was betrayed by a laugh.

“I’m a  _ demon _ ,” Crowley reminded him helpfully. “No one ever appreciated that one. I, listen, it was multiple things! Made people angry and it did the uh… greed thing, you know, movie companies-”

As Crowley explained the art behind his subtle demonic machinations, Aziraphale gazed at the demon’s face. He had a rather lovely face, though he was so content on covering it up all the time with those dark sunglasses. It was sometime around the 1930s that he’d started hiding his golden eyes from view. Aziraphale had no way of knowing this, as Crowley had never mentioned it, but the demon was not particularly fond of his eyes.

They came with the fall, a snake’s eyes that started back at him accusingly in every reflection. When they weren’t reminding him of his fall from grace they were making it hard to disappear into a crowd. Humans, as it turns out, were very good at noticing what made others different from them and even better at hating or fearing that difference. For someone who wanted to experience human life, and who was obligated to spread dissent and evil without being noticed, a pair of slit pupiled eyes was a bit of a hindrance. 

No, Aziraphale didn’t know this, all he knew was that he missed those eyes that caught any nearby light in their pools of molten gold. His mind, urged on by the wine and the lack of consequences from literal higher ups for demon involvement, was slowly forming an idea as Crowley struggled to form a coherent sentence. 

“-anyway, it did much better with that streaming service… shows just…” Crowley started trailing off as Aziraphale left his chair and settled onto the couch. Crowley’s long limbs retracted from their sprawl, and he retreated slightly from Aziraphale’s advance like a cat sensing incoming human attention. 

“Angel?” he asked with a soft chuckle, as Aziraphale leaned in close to his face. Crowley remained still as Aziraphale removed his sunglasses, and then placed a warm hand on his cheek. One restless thumb stroked across the prominent edge of Crowley’s cheekbone, and Crowley shivered at the feather-light touch. 

“There now,” Aziraphale said softly, gazing at Crowley’s eyes. “That’s better.”

With an angel practically in his lap and no barrier between his eyes and the rest of the world Crowley suddenly lost his composure. He decided to regain it by taking a rather long swig of liquid courage, and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. When he spoke again, his voice was husky but calm.

“Y’know, stealing… is not very angelic,” he said.

Aziraphale sighed, and held out Crowley’s sunglasses with intent to return them. However, Crowley simply folded Aziraphale’s fingers back over the shades and pushed them away.

“No, angel,” he said. “I meant my heart.”

The overly saccharine line might have made someone else’s eyes roll, but Aziraphale the angel was famously fond of sweet things, and of the honeyed words of one demon in particular. 

“Oh,” he said with a bit of a proud smile forming on his lips. “Well, I regret to say I have… no intention of returning that.”

Crowley made an admirable show of not being affected by the flirting by becoming suddenly interested in his nails. The show might have actually worked, had his other arm not found its way around Aziraphale’s shoulders and drawn him in closer.

In the morning Crowley would find his sunglasses dropped carelessly on the floor. He would also find a slumbering angel drooling on his chest. 

All in all a rather fair trade, he thought.


End file.
